


Crimson Curtain

by Im_The_Doctor (Bofur1)



Category: Tombstone (1993)
Genre: Gen, narrated, so here it is, we rarely get Virg's pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-27
Updated: 2013-05-27
Packaged: 2017-12-13 04:00:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/819731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Im_The_Doctor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Virgil hears some screaming, and wonders what on earth has come about outside. Despite his doctor's and wife's protests, he goes to the door to investigate.</p><p> </p><p>If I owned any of this, I would LONG DEAD.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crimson Curtain

At first I was in too much pain to notice the sounds outside. My arm felt as though it were literally being consumed by fire—or perhaps it was being eaten from the inside out by those bullets basking in my blood.

My Allie was hysterical, and I admit without shame that I was as well. Who wouldn’t be under the circumstances? But over my own cries and Allie’s sobs I heard something else. I tensed, and shifted a bit, trying to hear the noise better. Screaming.

“Let me up,” I ordered, wriggling, trying to sit up.

Allie started to push me back down even as I resisted. “Virg, please—”

“Mr. Earp, it would be best if you didn’t—”

“ _Let me up!_ ” I repeated harshly, trying to put all the strength I had left into those three words. The doctor continued to object, but Allie understood. I was still a Marshall, even with this bloody hopeless arm, and I needed to see what was happening. It was my duty.

Another scream split the air, and my heart skipped a beat. It sounded like Wyatt. I staggered to my feet, panic bringing life to my weak legs. The Cowboys couldn’t have gotten to him. They _couldn’t_ have!

I ran to the door, my movements spraying blood everywhere, but I paid it no mind. All I cared about was my brother. When I flung open the door, a gust of wind and rain slammed into me, but again, I ignored it. My vision centered onto the source of the cries. It _was_ Wyatt, lurching about and wailing.

I saw the crimson curtain adorning his arms, and for a split second I believed it to be his blood. But then the wind brought his cries blasting into my ears. 

 _Morgan_.

The Cowboys had a vendetta against all of us, but most of all against Wyatt. They knew exactly who to target, who to snuff out, to get our—his—attention. They had it.

Morgan, the baby brother, so gentle, so undeserving of what they had obviously done. I clung to the door, for fear I would keel over in a swoon. It was _my fault_. Morg shouldn’t have been involved, but he was just doing what I’d done. He’d pinned that badge onto his vest because _I_ had. And he’d been killed for it.

“...We’re brothers. Gotta back your brother’s play,” he’d said unflinchingly. He’d stood a bit taller, grown a bit wiser because of it. The Cowboys had stolen that from us without a second thought.

I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything but gape at the blood and water pooling in Wyatt’s palms and streaming between his fingers. All that remained of the youthful, wide-eyed treasure that had been Morgan Earp.

Wyatt clutched at his chest with his bloodstained fingers and howled at the top of his lungs: “ _MORGAN!!_ ” The heavens wailed it back to him, and I knew what needed to happen.

Our family had at last taken its final blow. No more. We had to leave this town, for good.


End file.
